


Storyteller

by Empy (Empyreus)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Childhood, Children, Community: hobbit_kink, Dragons, Dwarves, Family, Gen, Happy, Laughter, Misfire fill, Pre-Canon, Siblings, Storytelling, Sweet, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Writing, rather sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empyreus/pseuds/Empy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dís set the parchment down, smoothing it out carefully. "That was lovely," she smiled. "Please keep writing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storyteller

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a misfire fill for the Hobbit kink meme and originally posted [here](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/702.html?thread=501438#t501438). (I intended to write a cracky little fill for a laugh and then this suddenly happened. I don't even.)

Dís set the parchment down, smoothing it out carefully. "That was lovely," she smiled. "Please keep writing."

"Are you certain?" Thorin looked at his ink-stained hands, plucking at his rolled-up sleeve before looking up at her. "It is not one of my strong suits, sister. What if they find it lacking?"

She tilted her head, biting her lip in a manner that suggested she was trying hard not to burst out laughing. "They will not, I assure you. The fact that you are the one who wrote it guarantees it will be accepted with much gratitude."

"Are you certain?"

"They are children, brother! And your nephews, no less. They will love it." She looked over at Fíli and Kíli, who were currently engaged in a game of drake-hunting, with Fíli as the furious dragon chasing the brave adventurer around each pillar of the hall. Each time Fíli roared, Kíli quickened his pace, but the pealing laughter let on that he was not frightened as much as excited. As they passed the table, Fíli stumbled, but did not have time to fall before Thorin grabbed him.

"Careful," he said, lifting Fíli onto his lap only to have him clamber onto the table from there. "Did your long tail trip you up, little fire-drake?"

"No!" insisted Fíli, lifting his chin defiantly.

"Yes it did," insisted Kíli, who had climbed onto his mother's lap in the meantime. "You are clumsy," he giggled.

"Am not." A pleading look was levelled at Thorin. "Uncle, tell him I am not!"

"You are a very bold and excellent dragon and not clumsy in the least, Fíli," said Thorin. "But perhaps you should step down from the table before you topple something."

Fíli looked down at his feet, catching sight of the unrolled parchment and the bottles of ink. "Oh. What are you writing, uncle Thorin?" He frowned, shifting as he tried to read the writing that was half-hid under his booted feet. "There are so many words."

Thorin coughed, looking over at his sister in desperation. She shook her head gently to show him she would not help, then focused on patiently persuading Kíli not to chew on the braid-clasps decorating her beard.

"What is it?" demanded Fíli. "Is it a story? That word means dragon, I know that." He squinted, trying to read the rest of the text despite it being upside-down when viewed from his perspective. Giving up, he plunked himself down on Thorin's lap again. "Read it to me," he said, the command so self-assured that Thorin found himself smiling. A born leader.

"It is indeed a story, and yes, it does tell of a dragon." He cleared his throat, but as soon as he saw that Kíli had ceased playing with Dís's beard in favour of listening, he felt his courage falter a little. Dís laughed.

"Go on," she urged. "You wrote it for them, so it is only fair that they should get to hear it."

"Did you really write a story for us? Is it just for us?" asked Fíli, craning his head back to be able to look at Thorin. His gaze was bright and admiring, and Thorin felt a surge of both affection and protectiveness.

"Yes," he said, picking up the parchment. "It is. A story for my favourite nephews."

_There once was a lonely mountain that nearly reached the sky..._


End file.
